


DIVE!

by phantomstriker (PBCBYH6104)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Crimes & Criminals, Historical, Maybe Romance? - Freeform, Money, Police, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBCBYH6104/pseuds/phantomstriker
Summary: The year is 1924. Newly appointed investigative consultant Mark Lee is hot on the trail of a mysterious criminal enterprise. Quickly realizing the police force will need some extra help with this case, he decides to form an elite crime-busting detective team. Donghyuck is an unemployed Cambridge graduate who just recently returned to Hanyang and Johnny is a news reporter for a weekly forum. Together, the three specialize in solving unsettling murder mysteries in hopes of arriving at the root of it all.
Kudos: 2





	1. [PREVIEW]

* * *

“What was that?”

“It sounded like a gun being fired!” Someone cries.

“A gun?” asks another. “This is supposed to be a hotel, not a shooting range!”

In the midst of the panic, another shot fires, followed by a loud splash.

“Look, someone fell into the pool!”

Throwing back his ginger ale, Donghyuck peeks over the ledge of the building, gazing over the glittering surface of the pool and sees the reflections of the hotel windows in the water. The lights quickly turn on as people appear, leaning out of the windows and spectating. Peculiarly, on the fifty-first floor, the lights stop for a brief moment but quickly resume. Three more gunshots ensue. He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a radio transceiver.

“Makgeolli, DJ, you listening?” he says into the mic. “They’re here. Round off the 51st floor.”

“Got it,” responds Mark. 

Johnny’s voice shoots up promptly, “let me know if you need backup, over.”

Donghyuck pushes through the crowd and returns to the elevator lobby. People are already beginning to wait for the lift to arrive, forming an impermeable barricade between him and the hallway. He takes the four flights down the stairs instead, rustling through his pocket to find his handgun.

He stands with his back against the wall, controlling his breathing until it faded along with the echoes of the dirt falling from his footsteps. Pointing his gun shakily against the door, he waits for further instructions from Mark as he counts the ticks from his wristwatch.

Thirty seconds pass. Donghyuck is getting anxious. _It has been half a minute already, where is the signal?_

“Makgeolli? Status?”

Radio static.

Swallowing, Donghyuck asks again, “is it safe to proceed, Makgeolli?”

The radio stutters once, then beeping when Mark finally responds with, “scene clear.”

Donghyuck sighs in relief. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he releases his jaw. He drops his gun slightly to open the door ajar, leaning towards the slit to survey the hall. The fluorescent lights flicker on and off and it smells like... _fuzzy_. 

“Am I _that_ invisible to you?”

_Shit._ _No, no, no._ Donghyuck clasps his mouth with his hand.

And there in the corner by a gunshot-infested door is their target holding Mark at gunpoint, his limp body sliding down against the wall. Without a gas mask, there is nothing he can do except to breathe the fumes.

“I warned you, boy. Don’t mess with us.”


	2. The First Purchase

Voices clamber over each other, creating a busy symphony of conversations in the small restaurant. Over the drunken dialogue, plates of meat sliced for grilling come floating out of the kitchen on wooden trays. Together, the fire from the grills, the hum of the setting sun, and the ruckus from the people talking over each other turns the diner into a heat vacuum.

Mark heads out for some fresh air, ducking under the noren curtains out onto the street. With his eyes closed and the brine of ocean air drifting into his lungs, he savors the moment under the moonlight. The beautiful people of Hanyang stroll by in their western attire, shirtwaist dresses and wool suits looking like pebbles rolling down a stream of water. Sometimes a hanbok appears like a fish amongst flannel. He closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the bricks. Even though parties are stressful, he’s glad he took this time to rest his mind.

“...r, sir!” 

_What? Who is that yelling over there?_

“Sir!”

Mark gives out a shocked noise and peels his eyelids open. One of his assistants stands before him, sweating in his uniform and clearly out of breath. 

Pushing his palms into his eyelids, he sighs. “What is it, Jisung?” 

“There’s a new lead, sir.”

“I’m not that old to be your sir just yet. I told you to call me hyung,” Mark sighs, muttering _where did you even run here from_ as he takes note of his windblown hair sticking to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat. “Anyway, where are the documents?”

Wheezing, Jisung shakily hands him a bent dossier. Mark takes the files from his assistant and unravels the string-tie buckle. Quickly scanning over the document, he clasps the cover as soon as he is done. He reenters the pub to retrieve his jacket and other items with Jisung awkwardly following.

Back in the diner, it seems like everyone is pretty much done with the meat. The cake is also coming soon, including the watermelon desserts he wanted to stay for.

“Got a case already?” Johnny comes up behind him and gives him a fatherly pat on the back. 

“Yeah, it’s all the way up in Hannam-dong. Sorry I can’t stay, hyung.”

Johnny smiles and shakes his head. “I wish I could persuade you to stay for your favourite watermelon pastries, but I shouldn’t keep an officer for too long. Not exactly looking for trouble with the law tonight.”

Laughing, Mark grabs Johnny’s hand and pulls him into a parting hug. “Yeah right. Happy birthday Johnny, and catch you later!”

“Oh and drive safe, Jisung!”

The ride to Hannam-dong takes roughly thirty minutes, during which Jisung briefs him on the lead. Their informant, a millionaire married couple, claims that their eight-year-old daughter has been kidnapped. They received a picture of their daughter tied up in explosives along with a ransom note made from random letter clippings. This note, signed by the pseudonym, “Boksu”, demands a suspicious price of 1912620 in cash. They want the detective agency to crack the code and find out its significance. Looking at the note, Mark is one hundred percent sure it matches the other ransom notes they have on record back at the agency. 

“So, why are we headed to their house right now?”

“Our clients are hosting a fake birthday party to confuse the criminal, apparently.”

“Why do we not have another team simultaneously tracking down the location of the kidnapper? It says that we’re literally the only unit on the move right now.”

“They tried to get the hounds on it but the poor dogs just stalled, unable to trace the scent. Also, I’m assuming they already have their own private search team on the lookout. Check this out - on the second page, it says that the return address does not exist, meaning that the suspect might have delivered the mail on their own. Higher-ups are saying it’s probably a relative.”

Mark groans. “Don’t tell me it’s another domestic case. These always end in tears and we would have to drag ourselves to another hearing.”

“Well, it could also be a colleague for all we know. These people are millionaires -- I don’t think it’s unreasonable for many people to know where they live without digging a bit.”

“We should keep an eye out for everyone then, regardless of the weird address.”

Stopping at a red light, Mark goes over the documents again. This is exactly like the other letter clipping ransom letters from years ago before he entered the agency. But there’s something different about this one, as if there’s a real threat. Must be a gut feeling, he presumes.

“What’s this?” He points his laser at a particular spot on the page. “Do not reveal our purpose of visit… Are we going as attendees?”

“Oh right!” Jisung reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled card. “Here, she provided us with fake invitation cards so we can get past the guards.”

Looking at the card, it looks and smells of money. Even the ink is infused with a glittering metal of some sort. 

_~[Park Jisung and Lee Mark are hereby invited to Ha Sunhee’s eighth birthday party on the evening of February 9th, 1924. RSVP before February 2nd, 1924.]~_

Mark swears he’s never seen his name embossed like that before. Not even on his desk plate.

“Whose idea was this?”

“The madam’s.”

“Did we RSVP?” he asks.

“We don’t need to.” Jisung shakes his head. “They’ve already confirmed our attendance. Which means, we get our share of drinks as well!”

“Tsk!” Mark clicks his tongue and Jisung flinches in reflex, causing the vehicle to jerk to the right suddenly. “You’re too young to drink. Now get back to the case before I come over here and whack you.”

Suddenly, the sound of the bumpy gravel road disappears and is replaced by a smooth buzzing sound, the sound of sweet, freshly paved asphalt. Both of them gulp and brace themselves as they enter what they call the “territory of the rich.” The number of traditional horse-and-buggies dwindles as they are quickly replaced by Rolls Royces and Cadillacs. Jisung grips the wheel of his Model-T quietly.

“When we get there, keep your guard up.”

After a few turns and roundabouts here and there, they pull up to the address. Facing a colossal iron gate, two security guards approach them whilst blasting beams of light in their face. Stepping out of the car, Mark provides them with the invitation that their client provided them. The first guard hands it off to the other guard, who returns to the parking booth to confirm the invitation. Mark clenches his jaws, desperately hoping their names match up in the system. Thankfully, the other guard pokes his head out and gives a thumbs up. Now all that’s left is getting into the building-

“Identification, sir.” The first guard asks.

But of course, this is a millionaire case they’re dealing with. Reluctantly, Mark reaches into his inner breast pocket and retrieves his government-issued ID (nearly faints when he almost pulls out his police badge). Jisung holds out his own. 

The guard scans the cards, his expression unreadable. He brings his flashlight up to check the details, the glaring light rendering Mark momentarily blind. His eyes glance down to the card, up to his face, and back down to the card again. The guard marches over to the driver’s seat and goes through the same procedure with Jisung. Mark can clearly hear the poor young man near-choking on his own breath.

“Is there something wrong?” Mark asks.

“No, sir. It’s just that you are extremely late. By this time, dinner should already be over. Were you aware of this, sir?”

“Oh, my apologies. I must have read the time wrong.” Mark wracks his brain for a logical response, but his mouth turns drier than sandpaper. He manages to keep his cool, just enough to seem unphased. “Is there an issue?”

The guard hands back their ID cards. “No sir, there’s nothing wrong. For safety’s sake, however, I have to confirm with the owners. Please wait here.”

Mark leaps forward and grabs the guard’s shoulder. “Is that really necessary? I’m sure the family is too busy to answer the call, and I wouldn’t want to take up their glorious time.” He winces. _Damn, that sounded so suspicious!_

The guard looks at him and avoids the question. “Do not worry, it will only take a few minutes. You can wait in your car, sir.”

 _No, not yet. We just got here, our mission cannot be over just yet. Mark, say something. Say anything! If these guards know anything…_ Mark feels his guts plummet and mouth dry up, quickly beginning to panic. Looking at Jisung, who’s obviously paling with every passing second, he fears that they won’t be able to get in from the front door after all. Escape routes, alternate entrances, and even bribery -- he considers everything, but all the wires in his brain can do is short-circuit. 

Just what is the _best_ card to play?

“H-hey!” He begins. “If you’re going to continue stalling us, we’re just going to leave and complain to your boss about their incompetent guards.” Pretending to be upset, he walks back to the car and is about to open the door when suddenly another one shuts. Footsteps walk up from behind their vehicle.

“What’s with the holdup?” Someone asks.

Standing there in a perfectly tailored suit that makes Mark self-conscious about his own overcoat that’s fraying at the edges, the stranger from the car (which has been rumbling for a while now, actually) behind theirs walks past him and makes a beeline towards the booth. Although he senses no immediate threat from the man, Mark keeps up his guard and watches the following exchange carefully.

“Is there a problem here?” The man asks, leaning into the booth until his whole torso hangs over the window. It looks like a snake just slithered its way into a robin’s nest for some reason. The man isn’t even that tall but something about him screams cunning.

The guards lean back a bit but hold their ground. “Due to procedural rules, we have to check with the owner regarding late admittances. May I ask what your purpose of visit is, sir?”

“To attend my colleague’s daughter’s birthday, did you not get the memo?” The stranger lets out a laugh and pulls out an invitation, similar to that of Mark and Jisung’s. “If you require an ID, I am more than willing to provide. Just make it fast - I am late enough as it is.”

The guard files away the invitation after inspecting it. “May I take a look at your ID, sir?”

He holds up his wallet to the kiosk window. “I hope this will do.”

Pausing momentarily to look at the card, the guard hands it back. “Thank you. Regardless though, we still have to contact the owners about your late admittance. For the time being, please wait in your car, sir.”

“Sure, but I have a better suggestion.” Completely serious, the stranger pulls out a thick wad of cash, to which everyone gapes at. Mark thinks that must be at least five -- no, at least ten -- paychecks (if his boss is having a good day). “Why don’t you spare the family some trouble, and just leave a message instead? I’m sure there is no difference.”

“Y-yes, we can leave a message in lieu of a call right now. What do you wish to say?”

The man pauses for a while, tapping his feet on the ground. “ _Donghyuck was here_. Yes, that shall be it.”

“We will let them know! Thank you, sir. Have a great evening.” They take the money without haste and quickly store it in a cash box. The man then leans into the kiosk even farther, saying something inaudible as he points back at Mark with his thumb. The guards nod. As the man passes Mark on his way back to the car, he tips his head and flashes him a quick smile - one that doesn’t translate “I’m happy to see you” but rather “aren’t you happy to see me”.

“Wait, what?” Mark wills himself to close his gaping mouth. Astounded, he watches the man return to his car and drive past the gate, leaving a trail of Duesenberg exhaust fumes for Mark to choke on.

Climbing back to his own car, he is greeted by Jisung’s eyebrow-raising confusion that matches his own face.

“Who on _earth_ was that?”

“No clue, but he’s definitely suspicious. That amount of money does not come from a respectable job.” Mark scribbles _Donghyuck_ in his notebook. Without looking up he urges Jisung to get the engine started again. “Let’s go ahead.”

“B-but hyung, I don’t think they’re letting us go in…”

Looking up, he spots the guards closing the gate. One of them comes to tap on their window. Mark rolls it down. 

“You can’t pass, sir.” The guard says.

Mark furrows his brows. “And why is that? I thought we were with him.”

“No, he said you are a pedophile and you’re trying to kidnap the young miss. Get out before we arrest you.”

  
“Sorry, what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many historical discrepancies so I'm shamelessly using my creative license to tweak some technicalities here and there. Sorry for taking so damn long...


End file.
